As she spoke, she rose, and turned to quit the room; and Simeon of Roydon hesitated for a moment whether he should not detain her by force--for those were days of violence; and her very coldness had rendered the passion he began to feel towards her but the more impetuous. He remembered, however, that there might be those who expected her return; that the place whither she had gone was known at the monastery; and that the King's eye might be upon his conduct towards her. These calculations passed like lightning through his mind, and he chose his course in an instant. "Stay!" he cried, "stay one minute more, sweet girl. I have not mistaken you at all. I would not even force my protection on you: but, at least, receive this; for I must tell the King that it is paid." "His bounty," replied Ella, "I will not refuse, as I before said, and offer him my deepest thanks; but, from you, I will receive nothing." "Well, then, take these fifty pieces," said her companion; "they are given by the King's command. We shall meet again, fair maid; and then, perhaps, you will know me better." "I seek to know no more," she answered, taking the gold he gave: "I have known enough," and, turning to the door, she left him, murmuring to herself, "Would that the King had sent it by other hands." Simeon of Roydon followed her to the gates, beckoning up two of his servants as he went. "Quick," he whispered; "you see that girl?--follow her wherever she goes: find out her name--her dwelling--every particular you can gather, and bring me your tidings with all speed." CHAPTER XII. THE HOURS OF JOY. Probably there is a period in the life of every one--if it be not cut short in very early years, when the blossom is still upon the trees of existence--in which the heart is so depressed by a reiteration of those misfortunes which generally come in groups, that the unexpected announcement of an unnamed visitor causes us to look up with a feeling of dread, as if some new sorrow were about to be added to the list of those endured. But such was not yet the case with Richard of Woodville, for though many of the events which had lately passed, had tended to make him somewhat more grave and thoughtful than in younger days, yet neither griefs, nor anxieties, nor disappointments had been heavy enough to weigh down a spirit naturally buoyant. His heart might be called light and free; for, though burdened with some cares, and tied by the silver chain of love, yet hope, bright, vigorous, rarely-tiring hope, helped him to carry his load; and the bond between him and sweet Mary Markham was not one to fetter the energies of his mind, or to dim the brightness of expectation. But above all things his bosom was perfectly free from guile; and in a house so cleanly kept, there is always light, unless every window be closed by the hands of death or of despair.